


Old Growth

by pennydrdful



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Evil Spike, F/M, Mind Control, Post Angel Season 5, Post: s05e22 Not Fade Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-18
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydrdful/pseuds/pennydrdful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Buffy finds out that not only is Spike alive, but also missing after the big fight in LA, she goes looking for him. But nothing ever goes as expected. When she finally catches up with him she finds him evil, malnourished, and with - Drusilla? Dawn and Giles also make an appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the LJ community seasonal_spuffy in the Fall of 2006. All comments/con-crits are very welcome.

For Giles, it is much easier to acknowledge Spike’s accomplishments and true reformation after he’s dead. After all, the vampire had acquired his soul and died saving the world. Yes, he truly was a hero. A hero who was dead and therefore could not possibly lay another finger on Buffy ever again. When Spike was a pile of dust with all the other large piles of dust that used to be Sunnydale, Giles found plenty of room in his heart for Spike the Champion.

However, when Andrew returns from Los Angeles babbling about white wizards and resurrections, that room in his heart suddenly shrinks to about the size of a cubbyhole. Within hours a crisis surfaces in the heart of Africa. Andrew is dispatched immediately, his expertise being viewed as quite essential. Upon his unfortunately precipitous return, Giles is informed that the site of the incident was curiously cut off from outside communication. No phones, you say? Yes, curious, very curious indeed.

She finds out eventually, however. Sooner or later these things just come out. It does not help matters when said vampire goes out and starts an apocalypse with the only other vampire Giles might actually loathe more. It only irritates him further when the fight turns out to be one they cannot finish. How bloody typical. He’d rather been hoping they would stay in that horrible city for the rest of their eternal lives. Stay and perhaps not start fights with multidimensional beings. He supposes that’s asking a bit too much considering the parties involved.

Buffy’s reaction is oddly calm when news reports start pouring in on the LA hijinx. Instead of leading the charge, she sends the troops out under Faith’s direction, a clear sign of, as Xander later told her, “her own brand of pretentious inner turmoil.” She still tends to take these end-of-the-world things a bit personally, never mind that she isn’t exactly the Chosen One anymore. What could she say? Old habits die hard.

Let’s be honest. She doesn’t go, because he didn’t call. He didn’t believe her when she said “I love you,” and he didn’t call when he came back. She still isn’t all that sure how she feels about comes-with-a-soul Spike.

So she stays in Italy, living footloose and fancy free with Dawnie. It never even crosses her mind to dial up that number she has burned into her brain. Giles offered to give it to her but she said no, she didn’t need it. She waited until she could slip into his office alone, and memorized it right there. She never puts it in her phone. Can’t look at it, can’t scroll past it every time she wants to call Riley or Willow. But she knows it. And she knows how it never shows up under incoming calls.

Dawn never brings him up. She thinks about him all the time, though. You can tell by that look she gets in her eyes, and the way she’ll say, “Nothing,” if you ask her what she’s thinking. She knows that she’s the only one that misses Spike just as much as Buffy does. Just like she knows that not calling Spike is one of those things that’s going on the ‘What I Will Never Forgive Buffy For’ list. Top of the list? Dying.

It doesn’t seem to matter how old she gets – she’s hardly a kid anymore, and it’s been three years since Sunnydale fell into the ground; she and Buffy just get closer and closer, even as the rest of the Scooby gang heads out to the corners of the globe.

It seems like no one can stay in one place anymore; changing time zones like seasons. Dawn knows the reason everyone moves around so much is because the only place they’ll ever call home is a big hole in the ground. They say they like to travel. They’re lying.

So Dawn stays with the bit of home that’s still left to her, Buffy, while thinking about the other part of home that’s restlessly roaming the streets of LA. The other parts? Mom, Tara, the Magic Box? All gone. She focuses on what she still has and helping out the Slayers, trying in the mean time, very hard, to forget the fact that she’s a key. This last bit is very important to maintaining focus while translating demon languages. A break in concentration can lead to negotiations, prophecies, or histories being mistranslated in a very serious way. Things go from being ‘the Slayer’ to ‘a Slayer.’ That’s how Kennedy almost lost an arm. It turns out that for some things in life, Buffy is still _the_ Slayer.

Things, for example, like Spike. Even after one of them succeeded in removing his hands for a short period of time, it was still Buffy – Slayer comma the. Only other two who really ever mattered, even a bit, were dead. And they only mattered _because_ they were dead. There was just Buffy now. Just her to know who and what he was. So when he goes missing after the big brouhaha down in the City of Angels, Buffy’s the one who decides that he should be found.

Whether he wants to or not.

******

Around the world, to give you my love. Even if you don’t want it anymore. That’s what they all try to tell me you know. Everyone except Dawnie. Two and a half years now with no word? They say maybe you don’t want to be found. I don’t really care. It’s been two and a half years of finding you gone, disappeared, poof up in smoke as soon as a Slayer gets a whiff of you in the area. Every time I get a new lead, it’s only to find you’re just a step ahead. Sometimes the TV’s still warm. Or the bed. Humans? Or maybe you found some new Slayer to obsess over. Someone willing to play the rogue.

Everyone says that maybe your feelings have changed. People’s feelings do change over time. Except when they said it, it was more like “Even a psycho, formerly evil, ex-stalker vampire’s feelings change." But imagining a world where you don’t love me is remarkably hard. Hard as in, not possible. Not possible in a world where nothing has proved to be impossible. I can remember when I first found out. About how you felt. Dawn had to tell me, cause I just couldn’t see it.

They say you don’t love me anymore. They’ve been saying that since we all heard about the LA fight and found out you were back. But I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it until I hear it from you. And maybe not even then. I will go round the world to give you my love.

******

Of all the exotic places we’ve gone, and by ‘we’ I mean this wild goose chase Spike has led me on, I can’t believe I find him in North Carolina. I can think of all sorts of reasons to find him in Moscow, Venice, Rio de Janeiro, New York… but North Carolina? I have no idea.

1213 Birmingham Road. Apartment #4B. The outside has so many windows. Trees are all around, but the leaves are turning colors already. They’ll fall off and the trees and his windows will be naked. Doesn’t matter how cold it is outside, sun in the wintertime will burn just as quick. How could he be safe here? I can walk right into the lobby and get on the elevator. The building really should have some kind of security.

Each floor is like a year dragging by. The elevator finally dings open. Two doors on either side of the hallway. It’s not exactly the Price is Right. I ring the doorbell. I ring the doorbell even when I know he’s not going to be there…. If only because of all the nights I used to just let myself in with a storm and a bang.

But things don’t change that much. Five seconds pass and I’m about to force the door open when it opens without my help. Standing there is someone I could have died happy without seeing ever again.

Large brown eyes, pallid skin that was once dark. Long brown hair and an old-fashioned dress smelling slightly of mothballs. The slender figure cocks her head to the side and murmurs languidly, “Oh, dear.”

Drusilla.

My entire body tenses and my balance shifts automatically, just a hair’s breadth away from launching into action when a voice from deeper within the apartment stops me cold.

“Who is it pet?”

That’s when the world stops. The door pulls open wide, and there he is. And it’s the old Spike.

The old Spike. Not comes-with-a-soul Spike. I couldn’t tell you how to save my life, but I can tell. It’s in the way he’s leaning against the doorjamb, black t-shirt, black jeans, all skin and bones. It’s the way he looks slightly bored as his lips are curling into a sneer. I was prepared for a lot of things when I eventually caught up with Spike. Drusilla and no soul were not among them.

 

“Well,” he drawls, his face mean, “isn’t this a kick?”

And that’s exactly what it is. It’s a kick to the gut, and suddenly there’s nothing inside of me. Between my ribs, underneath my lungs, there’s nothing. I redefine the word ‘cavity.’

“What’s the matter, Slayer? Cat got your tongue?” If I open my mouth, I’m going to throw up. “C’mon, Slayer. You’ve been tryin’ so hard to find us, and here we are. Had to have had a right good reason to use up that precious Chosen One time of yours. Never could spare much of it in the early days, could you?” He’s taunting me now; cruelty in his voice and eyes. He hasn’t wanted to cut me this bad in a long time.

By his side, Drusilla makes a pitying noise as a smile slides upon her lips. “Ooh, I don’t think I was expected, my Spike.”

Spike’s eyebrows lift as if he were in consideration. “Oh, didn’t I mention, Slayer?” His hand snakes around her waist and tugs her hard against his hip. “We’re forever, Dru and me.”

Drusilla’s smile widens in glee. “Come back to his mummy, he has. Where he always belonged.”

Finally, I find my tongue. “I don’t… understand.” My brain is still flat-line, however.

“Ah, you never do, do you? Well let me explain things for you one last time. Now, I think – ” Oh, he’s enjoying this, “I think that not being the one and only Chosen girl hasn’t sat well with you. Used to be, you’d near kill yourself just to be ‘normal,’ and now all you want is the whole Scooby gang back and crying for you to save the day.” He pauses and smirks. “Bet Dawn doesn’t even need you now, does she, pet?”

Now he smiles, small and mean, his eyes narrowing. “So you came looking for the one person that always wanted you, that would’ve crawled on glass just to please you.” The smile completely drops away, and he just stares, face blank. “Well guess what, baby? Unlike you, death has always done me worlds of good. And this time around, I got my balls back.” As if to prove his point, he gives Drusilla’s hips another sharp tug, making her bark with laughter. Then, slowly leaning forward, he says very softly, eyes watching for my reaction, “I don’t want you anymore, Slayer. So why don’t you go out and find that death wish of yours? Cause if you don’t leave Dru and me alone, I’ll find it for you.”

Beside him, Drusilla’s eyes widen, “Oh, can we? It’d be such fun. The girl in the door would cry and bleed such terrible things.”

Spike’s eyes cut to her briefly before sliding back to me. “Door girl, right.”

A million questions crowd my head, and it takes all my might to keep my shaking fists at my side. “What – ” I lick my lips, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “What about Angel? You were working with him?”

“Why do you think he never left that alley, Slayer?”

That clicks in place. Suddenly the fog lifts just a little, just enough. My feet find solid ground. “You always were a crappy liar, Spike.”

He doesn’t react for a moment, and then sniffs. “Bully for you. Then you should be able to tell how very much not a lie the rest of this little chat has been.”

“All it tells me is that you think it’s the truth. Which makes me wonder,” I turn to look at Drusilla, “where she comes in, in all this.” Her face shifts and she gives a small hiss.

Spike’s face hardens to stone and his grip around her tightens. “Tread very fucking lightly here, Slayer.”

I look back at him and smile. “Oh, this is far from done Spike. If you try running again, I’ll just find you ...again.”

A low growl tints his voice. “I’m not going anywhere, super bitch. Thinking ‘bout bagging my third Slayer after all.”

“Good, then it’s agreed. I’ll be seeing you, Spike.” I glance at Drusilla, who’s still in game face. “That goes for you, too, slut-bag.” Oh yeah, real mature Buffy. I turn on my heel and walk away, incredibly conscious of having two of the most dangerous vamps I know at my back. After a second or two, I hear the door slam behind me. The triumphant, strategic withdrawal lasts only until the elevator doors close. Then I fall slumped against the back wall, arms braced on the handrails.

Something hard and huge catches in my chest and I can’t breathe. I gasp, desperate for breath and that wave of nausea overwhelms me again. But I don’t cry. There’s still the chance that Drusilla is doing… something, anything. That she’s the cause of all this. So I won’t cry. Not yet. ‘Cause I think he’s still in there. The Spike I love. The champion I knew. And I’m going to jar him loose.

**End Part One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so just a little bit of clarification on my part. It's obvious that I play around a lot with voice in this chapter. Just so you know, this will be the only chapter where I am switching voices like that. Some readers may be lost and turned off by little prologue section that's in 3rd person and keeps jumping around in points of view. However, this jump from the voices of Giles, to Buffy, to Dawn, is completely intentional. I wanted to experiment a bit, and I was pleased with the effect. I hope it didn't make everyone just go 'HUH?


	2. Chapter 2

“…and you’re quite sure it was him?”

I grit my teeth and try very hard not to scream. “And for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes, Giles – yes.”

He murmurs, lost in thought. “Drusilla, too… There’s a creature I’m surprised still exists.”

“I know! The crazy hussy. How in the world has she managed to stay alive, or rather, evil undead? She’s… well… crazy.”

“I should’ve finished the job when I had the chance,” he says quietly.

That catches me. In an instant I’m back in Sunnydale, finding Giles bruised and bleeding; muttering incoherently; delusional courtesy of Drusilla’s mind games. “I know.” My voice is small and tinny over the miles between us. But I don’t want that. I want to be strong for him. “She’s doing it again, Giles. She’s doing it to a person that I –that I love, all over again. I have to stop her.” My breath, shuddering, ghosts across the line. “I just got him back. I can’t lose him again. Especially not like this.”

There’s a pause, and I wait. I wait for Giles to start in on why Spike’s not worth it. That’s usually how it goes, after all. We’ve come a long way since I shut that door on him in Sunnydale that last year. A long way that could easily crumble depending on his answer.

I hear him sigh, and then – “You will. You will.”

My eyes fall shut, and the knot in my shoulders eases just a tiny bit. “So you’ll look into it for me?”

“Of course. Though it would speed things along if you could find out more.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I wasn’t exactly planning on letting them go too far from my sight anyway. Do you have any ideas at all on how she might be doing this?”

“Nothing specific, really. Though I do think your instincts are correct in thinking that it’s her influence over him that is the cause of his behavior. I’d also be willing to bet that she had a hand in his apparent lack of soul, as well. Things would be entirely too coincidental otherwise.”

“Maybe I could just kill her and poof – Normal, not quite so evil Spike,” I suggest perkily.

“Yes, well, as appealing as that option might be, do try and restrain yourself. If she did use some sort of spell to bring him back, it could be the only thing sustaining him.”

“Fine. Just spoil all my fun.”

“Besides that, do you think he would actually let you?”

That sobers me up. “I can take Spike, Giles.”

“I know you can, but without him causing a good deal of harm to you in the process? I doubt it. He’s different now, those were your words. His soul might be gone and there’s no telling what other effects might be the product of Drusilla’s influence. Test him, if you can get him alone. You know him better than anyone, Buffy. Use that. In the mean time, I’ll do what I can.”

 

***** 

Dawn had been furious with me when I told her from the start that she couldn’t come with me on my search for Spike. I explained that you never know with these things, that if we ever did find Spike, that it might not be _our_ Spike. She was even more furious when I called and told her the news last night. She started in on that super high-pitch screaming thing that only Dawn can do, claiming that she could handle Spike.

_‘But he’s evil now, Dawnie! And he has no soul!’_

_‘When was Spike not at least a little evil? And he looked after me that whole summer you were gone, and he didn’t have a soul then.’_

_‘Ugh, but it’s different now. Now, he’s saying he’s going to kill his third Slayer and – ’_

_‘Oh c’mon, when was he not threatening to kill you?’_

_‘I told you, it’s different now. Drusilla’s with him.’_

_‘Yeah, but – wait, Drusilla? That ho-bag? Really?’_

_‘Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She’s done something to him. We don’t know what. But I’m going to find out.’_

_‘Are you sure I can’t – ’_

_‘No, Dawn. Look, as soon as we get him fixed, you’ll be on the next flight in.’_

_‘Promise?’_

_‘I promise.’_

If Dawn gets anywhere near Spike in the state he’s in, it’ll be over my dead body. Honestly? I have no idea if he would do anything to her now that he’s like this, but I don’t think he would stop Drusilla if she tried something. I lost Kendra to that witch, and I’ll be damned if I lose my little sister to her, too.

I’d like to think that Giles is right. Right about me being the one who knows Spike best. Either way, I do know that finding Spike has never been a problem. He always finds me first.

So I just do what I do best. It’s kind of nice to get back to the basics; kickin’ it old school style. Small town, cemetery, fledgling vamps that never appreciate my puns, knowing perfectly well all the while that Spike’s doing that whole stalking thing he always did.

My stake finds its mark with ease and the vamp, so newly risen it has clods of dirt in its hair, poofs.

“I didn’t even get a chance to break a sweat,” I grumble, pouting and waving the dust away. “No fun.”

“Is that what you’re looking for here, Slayer? A spot of fun?”

Bingo. ‘With Drusilla now.’ As if. “Nah, you know, I’m just doing that whole Slayer gig. Fighting to save the world from creeps like you. It’s part of the whole Chosen One package.”

He’s circling in that slow, predator’s way of his, but I refuse to turn and follow him. Won’t give him the satisfaction of being a real threat, even though every one of my nerves are blaring, just waiting for him to make a move. “Creeps like me? You’re changing your tune, luv. S’not what you were saying two nights ago.”

“Well, that was before you made big with the jerk.”

He stops in front of me. Skin and hair and coat all gleaming in the moonlight. But still so gaunt. The leather can’t hide it, not in his face. “Why are you still here, Slayer? You came, saw, satisfied your curiosity. Told you I don’t want you anymore.” He grins. “But that’s just it, innit? You just want what you can’t have. Angel, Parker, Riley …and now me. You only want them when they’re gone.” He smiles, thinking he’s scored a hit. “Ain’t that right?”

“Actually, Spike, if you’re as evil as you say you are… then I’m sticking around because it’s my job to put you and Drusilla down.”

He snarls, eyes flashing. “Just give it your best shot.”

“I dunno, Spikey… I’m getting pretty good in my old age. How about you? Think you still got what it takes to bring a Slayer down?”

He doesn’t reply, just lunges. I’m ready, but just barely. I make the mistake of thinking he can’t resist getting in the last word. I roll with his weight and then kick, sending him flying. But he’s back on his feet just as quick as I am.

One second he’s four feet away, the next, I see a flash of fang and that’s all the warning I have before he’s at my throat. Pure Slayer instinct is the only reason I manage to bring up an arm just in time to keep him from getting a chance at a kill. Fucking old vampires with their fucking super speed.

His breath is hot and meaty; moist air rushing over the surface of my neck, just inches away. “Actually, Slayer, I’d say you’re getting slower in your old age.” He snaps his fanged jaws together with audible strength. “Almost had you there, baby.” I buck and squirm, trying to dislodge him as those golden eyes bear down on me. With a shake of the head, his game face melts away, and it’s just Spike. “Say, you think little sis will be as fast when it’s her turn?” He grins, his tongue wagging lasciviously.

“You’ll never touch her,” I manage to growl out, his weight pressing down on my chest. Surging up, I butt my head against his. It throws him off just enough to roll him around and get on top.

But he’s still grinning like a maniac, he won’t stop. “But I will. Got me some unfinished business with you Summers women. What I started with you, I’m gonna finish with her. Unlike perfect, golden Buffy, she won’t have the strength to save her. I’m going to bring her down, drag her through the dirt.”

“Shut up! Shut your mouth!” With two fistfuls of his t-shirt, I bang his head hard against the ground. There must be rocks or branches, because blood’s pooling out, but he won’t stop laughing.

His words pour out in a torrent, like he can’t even help it, “Just think how I’ll make her scream, make her cry. Going to pound into that sweet skin of hers, until it bruises and bleeds and breaks. Think she’ll like it just a little bit? You always liked it rough. Maybe she’s just like big sis after all – just wants to roll in the dirt.”

I hit him, he’s not even struggling now, but I hit him. “Just – shut – your – mouth!” I hit him again and again and again, until that horrible, shrill laugh is broken up by the gurgling of him choking on his own blood. I finally stop, exhausted, holding his leather in a death grip. Tears stream down, falling on his bloody, mangled face. “Why are you doing this? Why are you saying these things?” I cry, voice half strangled. “What did that bitch do to you?”

Steadying myself on his chest, I push up, and look down at him. Barely conscious, his eyes have already begun to puff up, and he struggles to keep them open. My face crumbles as a fresh wave of tears hit. “Look what you made me do.” I scrub my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I didn’t want to do this again. I wanted things to be simple, simple and – and – nice, between us, Spike.”

He gives no answer. Just lays there, limp. Head facing off to the side. Dead leaves and grass, cold with the damp, pressing against his cut up skin. Eyes shut. “Spike. What did she do to you? Tell me, so I can fix it.”

“I love her.” His voice is cool and even, the mania, whatever it was, has left him. And it’s a slap in the face. Doesn’t matter that I know it’s not true. I know this isn’t Spike talking, not of his own free will. But it still hurts. I tighten my grip on him; he’s so skinny I can feel his ribs easy.

“Tell me.”

“Why haven’t you staked me already, you stupid bint.” Bitterness drips from every word. “Haven’t you heard? Haven’t you seen the bodies we’ve left? The cuts? The tears in their flesh? Did we really hide those poor bastards that well?”

I give him a rough jerk, fear creeping into my hands. Fear of what he might have already done before I found him. Fear that he’s so far gone, I can’t bring him back. I grit out the words slowly, deliberately, “Tell me – how she removed – your soul.”

Finally, slow with the effort, he turns to look at me; squinting up through swollen, blood encrusted eyes. “What makes you think she got rid of the soul, Slayer?”


	3. Chapter 3

“What – ” my voice falters. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t reply. His head has rolled to the side again, his eyes closed. Blood and dirt and dead leaves mat the back of his blonde hair. His silence grows and every second it fills me up more and more – like a balloon. “Spike. Are you saying that you still have your soul?” My voice is so tiny. Like the strong part of me, the Slayer part, is gone.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if he says yes. I don’t know, I just don’t – “Yes.”

Fresh blood trickles out the corner of his mouth, and he swallows audibly. The movements make him wince. I guess I worked him over pretty good this time. I push back the hair that’s fallen in my eyes, my hands shaking so bad I actually miss on the first try. Slowly, I stand up, careful not to jostle or put any weight on him. I make it two steps before my legs fail and I crumble into a heap on the damp ground. Pushing myself up to lean against a headstone, I look across the lawn. Night’ll be over soon. “Night’ll be over soon.” I can’t keep the tremor from my voice.

“It’ll be a lot longer than you think.”

Neither of us move. It’s like when Willow brought me back – together, we’re completely alone. Just like old times.

“Well, pet, still think I can be saved? Still think I’m redeemable?” He must be feeling better. Or at least starting to. The bite’s back in his voice, but not quite a hundred percent. “Soul never changed the fact that I’m still a monster.”

“No, Spike. As I remember it… you were the one to change that.”

Silence for a moment, and then – “Do you know what the first thing I did was when I got all solid again? I’m sure they told you ‘bout the ghost thing?”

I don’t answer; just nod my head tightly.

“Course they did. Bloody Scoobies always did find out everything. The first thing I did when I got solid: screwed Harmony on top one of Angel’s nice, big, corporate-evil-sponsored desks.” He quiets, waiting for a reaction.

I don’t feel hurt. I don’t feel anger. Just distance. Yup. Just like when Willow brought me back. “Good, Spike. That’s… good.”

“S’the only thing some women are good for, you know. Scratchin’ an itch. Like Anya. She was a lot like that. Bet that’s why the Whelp didn’t marry her.”

“Anya’s dead. She died in Sunnydale …with you.”

I don’t look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me. And I can feel right before he blows up. “What the hell is wrong with you, Slayer!” He struggles to push himself up. “I mean, I tell you I’m killing people again. Tell you I’m shacking up with Dru. Tease you about sleeping with other women. And threaten to rape and kill your little sister. Why the fuck aren’t I dust yet?”

I turn to look at him. He is a swollen, red and purple bloody mess. “Why do you want to die so badly?”

He scoffs half-heartedly. “I don’t.”

“Then shut up!” The anger surges again in a red haze. “I am tired of this bullshit already, Spike. I don’t want to run around in circles with you. I’m - …” I slump back against the granite. It’s so cold in the autumn weather, I can feel it seep into my bones. “…I’m tired, Spike.” Part of me can’t help but think that if he would only say ‘I’m sorry, baby’ I would forgive him all these hurtful things instantly. Anything, to be able to rest in those arms.

But he won’t. And he doesn’t. Because supposedly he loves Drusilla now.

“Did you ever think I might be a little fucking tired myself?” His voice cracks and I jerk my head up to look at him. “Did you?”

I stare at him. Suddenly he is so small. And he is tired. Trying to hold himself up, I can see each and every year he’s lived weighing him down. Each and every vict– “That’s why you’re so skinny,” I blurt out. “Because you have your soul. You can’t stand to feed. All those bodies you were talking about? I bet Drusilla did most of the work, huh? Couldn’t stand it, could you?”

He laughs. It is one of the most painful laughs I’ve ever heard. “Yeah… but prolonged screaming does tend to grate on a soul. Dru does the lion’s share, it’s true. But you can bet I do my part. And the rest… the rest I watch.” He eyes me, makes sure I’m listening hard. “I watch, and they scream, they _beg_ me for help. And I just watch. Soaking it all in.”

A coldness trickles down my spine like water. It’s knowledge. He did nothing to stop those things, he stood and did nothing. I can hear the guilt clear enough. I can see it in his eyes, in see the bow in his back. But I don’t know if it’s enough.

It is the knowledge that I might have to kill him after all.

“Are you getting it now, Slayer?” With a blink, I’m shoved against the tombstone, head bouncing against the granite. His face, inches from mine, breath coming in heavy pants. There he goes with that damn super speed again.

I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze square on. “When this is over, when you’re hurt because I doubted you, just remember that you pushed me. That you did your best, and your best has always been pretty damn good.”

I give him a firm shove. Just enough force to get him to take a few steps back. “Tell me how she’s doing it, Spike.”

He scoffs, “I’m telling you, she didn’t do a thing. Dru deals in trances, not mojo. You’re wasting your time, Slayer.”

I stare at him. Patience is gone. If I stick around any longer I’m probably just going to end up hitting him again. “I forgot that you’re one of the single most irritating beings on the planet. Goodnight, Spike.” Turning my back on him, I continue to keep all awareness focused on him. He is, after all, an unstable evil vampire. For a minute, there’s silence. A silence that makes me very, very nervous.

And then, he does say something. “I’ll be seeing you, Slayer.” The tone makes me stop dead. I turn, but he’s already gone. A quick glance around, and not a platinum head in sight. Tugging up the collar of my coat, I give the graveyard one more glance before continuing on. I lick my lips. I have to call Dawn. Just in case.

*****

I toe off my shoes and dig my feet into the carpet. Cheap Quality Inn carpet, but carpet nonetheless. Fully funded Slayerhood means I can afford better, but Dinwitty doesn’t have better, and cute bed and breakfast joints ask too many questions. Particularly when you don’t come back until three in the morning, covered in cuts, bruises, dirt, purple demon goo – the whole nine yards. So it’s quality time at Quality Inn for Buffy.

My cellphone sits on the bed beside me and I pick at a blob of demon gunk on my jeans as I mull over the time differences between here and England and Italy. Between Dawn and Giles, Dawn’s probably the one least likely to be irritated by a crappily-timed call. If it’s 1:30AM here, it’s... oh, whatever. I grab the cell and speed dial Dawn.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dawnie, sorry if I woke you up, you know me and the math and the time are all wonky together – ”

“Buffy, breathe, it’s fine. Besides, you don’t have to worry about the time difference now…” Her voice is at the same level of perky it was when she got Fabulous Fuchsia nail polish on my brand new comforter that one time. That everything’s-cool-don’t-worry level of perky.

“And why is that, Dawn?” I ask slowly, voice dripping with mock-sweetness.

“…Because I found out that you found out that Spike was in North Carolina and decided to come join you even if you want me or not.”

Something in my stomach lurches. “What?” I whisper. “No Dawn. No. You have to get on the next plane out of here, I don’t care where, just out. Go to Canada, go to Italy, I don’t care. But you can’t be here.”

“Look, I know you guys have a thing, but I loved him first you know! Just, you know, not love in the exchange of bodily fluids kind of – ”

“He’s evil, Dawn.”

She shuts up, if only for a moment. “What do you mean evil? Did he lose his soul?”

“Yes. Well, no, but he’s still evil.”

“Wait - what does that even mean, and how?”

Two years ago this is where I would’ve said ‘it’s complicated Dawnie.’ But that was two years ago. “I don’t know. But he is. It has something to do with Drusilla. Or at least, I think it does. He says he’s in love with her again. And I think she’s controlling him somehow.” I sigh and my shoulders sag; the events of the day catching up with me. “Giles is looking into it for me. Full on Watcher research mode.”

It takes a beat for her to reply. I can feel it all sinking into her. “I’ll help. Giles, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

“Did he – did he mention me at all?”

Suddenly, I’m flashed back to Sunnydale. Dawn’s thirteen and I just got off the phone with Dad in one of his increasingly rare calls. ‘No. No he didn’t.’ And just like last time, I have to lie again, because the truth will hurt more. The truth will probably make her cry and I’m just going to have to make Drusilla’s death that much harder if she makes my little sister cry.

“Oh. Well, if he’s evil I guess that’s a good thing right?” Disappointment and then jokes. Her way of putting up a front. “Besides the evil thing, how’s he looking?”

“Horrible.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All skin and bones. He’s a good guy, Dawnie. Evil never sits well with the good guys.”

“Like Willow. When she got scary.”

“Mhmm.”

“She stopped making all those dumb jokes and geeky references. That’s how I first knew. That something was off.”

“Yup. And just like her, we’re going to bring Spike back.”

“Yeah.”

Silence floods the line. Then my voice comes out, mouse quiet, “I don’t know if I can save him.”

“You can.”

“Dawn, he’s done… things… I don’t know exactly what, but it looks bad. He hinted that they had hidden bodies… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.” I swallow hard. I will not cry in front of her. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I have to take care of this. Get the job done.

“Buffy, you will. You will. He’s under a spell, nothing more. End the spell and poof – Old Spike. Well, you know, not _old_ old, but new old. It’s going to be fine.” Just five seconds ago, I was the one giving the pep talk and now look at us.

“I know. I know, you’re right. It’s just hard… to remember that it’s not real when he says – ” I stop, not trusting my voice to hold steady.

“Listen. I’m in Charlotte staying at the Marriott, so if you wanna get dinner or something…”

“No, no it’s alright. And I can’t. I can’t leave here right now. But I’d really just feel better with you flying out of here ASAP. As in, yesterday.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll get on a plane first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“Good. Call me when you get… wherever it is you’re going.”

“’K. I’ll probably just head back home. See what kind of trouble Andrew’s gotten into while we’ve been gone.”

“I’ll just be thankful if it’s not burnt to the ground.”

“Yeah… ‘night, Buffy.”

“’Night, Dawnie.” I snap the phone shut and stare at the clock. It’s late. …Or early, whatever. My whole body’s tense. Like every nerve’s on edge, just waiting for Spike to leap out of no where. It had been like that ever since I left him standing among the tombstones and continued on a patrol of the town, but it had been a quiet sort of alarm. Now the adrenaline’s gone and the nervous system’s working double-time. Sleep. I just need to sleep. I can call Giles after a much needed coma.

…In my dreams, Drusilla has Dawn. She knows all about keys and locks. She knows all about blood. Slayer blood. Summers’ blood. Magical portal blood. Spike stands in the shadows, and he watches. I hate him for it. Hate him far more than I have ever hated Drusilla. I hate him because he knows better.


	4. Chapter 4

Dawn’s in Charlotte.

Spike stands in the middle of the crap bedroom of the crap apartment. Dawn’s in Charlotte. Dru’s layin on – Dawn’sinCharlotte – the bed, already asleep. He just barely made it back from the hotel in time to beat the sun. Got all spoiled with Peaches and his sciency-what-not-tinted windows. The sky’s fully pink outside.

His feet itch, his hands work, his jaw clenches. Dawn’s in Charlotte. Dru’s asleep. Thank the bloody Powers That Be, she’s asleep and he doesn’t have to tell her – Dawn’s in Charlotte.

There is a tremor in his hands and a loud speaker blaring, screaming at him to tell her, tell her, tell her – Dawn’s in Charlotte.

But there’s something else underneath it. Way below the surface, but flowing strong and smooth just the same. The part of his blood that isn’t Drusilla’s. The part that is his. His to keep and his to give. The part that was singing earlier. Singing in the graveyard and still thrumming now.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. It had held him back in the fight; kept him from going full swing. Dragged on his limbs, making him just a bit too slow, a bit too soft. And it’s holding him back now. Holding him back, when all he wants is to make the noise stop. All of it. Every shout, every scream, whimper, cry, plea, sob – bloody soul. It’s just making his undead life that much harder.

Fuck, he needs a smoke. He starts patting down his pockets, glances around the room, heads for the dresser. It’s the soul. Making everything harder than it needs to be. Making a mess of everything.

He pulls open the drawer, and there they are. They’re lying on top of something, and he snatches them up, studies the other thing in the drawer. He doesn’t know what it is and the soul won’t be quiet. It’s black lace and wood with a russet smear and the soul just won’t shut up. He stares at it. The cogs in his brain slowly working around this new object. The soul, the soul he got for Bu – .

Spike stares at the open drawer. He blinks slowly. Shutting the drawer absentmindedly, he looks down at his hand. Cigarettes. Shrugging, he begins packing them against the heel of his palm. He turns. Drusilla’s lying on the bed, sleeping peacefully. Her long chestnut hair spread out in a shiny wave across the pillow. A smile tugs at his lips. It’s rare that there are no dreams driving her to fits. He tosses the pack on the dresser and peels off his shirt. Slowly, carefully, as not to startle her, he climbs up the bed and pulls her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair. His dark, wicked plum. “Dru,” he whispers, “I found the girl. I found the little bit.”

 

******

 

I call Giles and tell him everything. The bodies. The dream. What Spike said about Dru doing trances, not mojo. He may have been lying, but he’s typically a horrible liar. Now, misdirection he can do. He can do it quite wonderfully. But out and out lying? Not so much.

I call Giles, and then I call Dawn. It rings and rings and I hang up before it can go to voice mail. She must be mid-flight or something. I wait until just a bit after nightfall, then go back to their apartment building. From what I remember, Spike would get stir crazy close to sunset, leaving his old crypt as soon as he could. …if he wasn’t taking the sewer tunnels, that is. Sure enough, that super sleek, super shiny black car that was sitting on the street by the apartment yesterday is gone now. It was the most expensive car on the block and stuck out like a sore thumb. Spike’s undoubtedly. Let’s just hope Drusilla decided to tag along.

Shivering inside my coat, I trot up the stairs to the apartment building. The wind chaps my cheeks. Why can’t the rest of the world have California weather? I take the elevator up to their floor. What do you want to bet that they broke the lock on the door when they moved in? I jiggle the handle and presto! Entry into creepy vampire lair.

I’m not nervous. I’m not. Why should the world’s oldest Vampire Slayer be nervous about walking into an empty nest? Except… it’s not so much a nest, as the former apartment of young, black newlyweds. I put a picture back on the mantle. Newlyweds with really bad taste, apparently. I nudge the edge of the living room rug with my boot. It’s cheetah print. They aren’t going to get the chance to grow old together with their bad taste. I wonder if they were both home when Spike and Drusilla came in. Or if one of them came home later to find – . I shove the thought away. Thoughts like that are a very short exit to Crazyville.

So I press on, ignoring the pictures and sconces and other knickknacks hanging on the walls. Ignoring the kitchen with its rotting fruit and movie rentals and fashion magazines. Ignoring the bathroom where the pink and orange floral shower curtain has been ripped half off its hooks. Ignoring the brown-red smear across the eggshell white walls.

I ignore it all, heading straight for the bedroom. Knowing Drusilla, she’ll be keeping her resident voodoo doll sitting somewhere really obvious. Like on top of a dresser. Next to her hairbrush.

They didn’t make the bed. Spike and Drusilla. Of course they didn’t make the bed. A muscle in my arm jerks and I force my eyes to look elsewhere. Gotta find what I came here for.

The bedroom is just as tacky as the rest of the place. Except here, you also have pearls, ribbons, and wiggy little dolls with blindfolds. An ivory gown lies in a heap on top of an overflowing trunk. The only sign of Spike is a balled up black t-shirt in the corner.

I edge around the bed towards the trunk and my toe kicks something with a thunk. Fishing under the dust ruffle I pull out a book. Alexander Pope. Poetry. A flicker of hope sparks up. I don’t know why. I mean, he read poetry long before he ever loved me; before he was even Spike; when he was just William. The night I made him tell the truth about his human days is one that I only appreciate in retrospect. In those days it was all I could do to be still. To not hit him, with words or fists. …I never could decide which hurt him the most – words or fists.

Reluctantly, I slide the book back under the bed. I want to take it with me but it might be the only piece in this room that really belongs to him, gives him some escape. Besides, it’s not what you’re here for, Buffy. With a quick glance for whatever else is underneath the bed, I move on to the trunk. Digging and shifting around its contents carefully, I try to find… something. I dunno. Anything remotely magic or creepy looking. Giles hadn’t been able to narrow things down a whole lot. Apparently spells and magical whatnots made to impose your will on others are all the rage in the world of evil. But he said I’d probably know it when I saw it.

I should be able to pick out the magical evil stuff from the regular crazy lady stuff, right? Right. Eventually, I reach the bottom. Something white and shiny catches my eye. Slowly, piece by piece rattling along, I pull up what appears to be a series of very small bones strung along a bit of twine. I hate her. I officially hate her. Letting it drop back in, I sigh and begin to repack everything. Ok, so. Not the trunk.

Climbing to my feet, I move toward the chest of drawers. There’s a pile of men’s socks and underwear scattered all over the ground, like they just grabbed a drawer and turned it upside down. I tug open the first one. Nope. Second, nope. Third – completely empty. Frowning, I stare at the barren drawer. Ok, so why would they empty it out… and then not put anything in it? Maybe it’s where Drusilla had been keeping… whatever it was she was keeping. Some sort of talisman. But why would she take it with her? Spike didn’t need constant contact with it… that’d been proven by the fight in the graveyard last night. Why would she take it?

There’s a sudden tightness in my chest and before I realize it, my hand gropes for my cell. I dial and the time between each ring feels like eternity. “Dawnie. Pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick – ”

“Hello, Slayer.” That long drawl fills my head until there is nothing else. The second I hear that voice, my feet start moving towards the apartment door. “Bout time you called back. Sorry I missed you earlier, but I was a bit… busy. And Dru, well she never got on with the whole technology gig and Dawn… Dawn was a bit tied up. You can take that as literally as you like.”

I can’t breathe, I can’t – I – “What did you do?” My voice rises until I’m screaming in the middle of the dead couple’s foyer. “What did you do to her!”

“Now, now… no need to shout. I’ve these delicate vampire eardrums, you know.”

“Let me talk to her. Now.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands, kitten.”

“I’m coming up there, Spike. And you’d better pray that you haven’t touched a single hair on her head or spell or no spell, you’ll be dust before morning. You and Drusilla.”

His voice becomes clipped. “Careful what you say. Wouldn’t want to get me angry. Might take it out on the little bit.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Spike.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The phone clicks shut and the world rushes back again. I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment of dead people. Whether some walk and talk or not, they’re all still dead.

“I have to get to Dawn.” The leaf skittering across the concrete at my feet is louder than my voice.

I take off running, my feet pounding as I head back to the rental. It takes two tries to get the key in the door lock. I hate driving on a good day. How am I supposed to make the forty-minute drive to Charlotte without killing anyone when my nerves are like this? How am I supposed to drive when they’re doing who knows what to my little sister?

*****

Dawn stopped screaming four hours ago. It wasn’t doing any good, and her throat hurt. She hadn’t stopped crying, however. And it didn’t look like she’d be stopping anytime soon. They had tossed her on the bed a little while ago. It’d made a red smear across the comforter. A stain that continued to grow as the minutes ticked by. The cuts they’d made weren’t terribly deep, but they hurt. Oh, Drusilla had made certain of that.

Dawn tugged at the bonds trapping her wrists behind her. Drusilla was sprawled across the foot of the bed, talking softly to herself and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The dress she wore was the same shade of chocolate as her hair. Except now, it had dark spots. Spots from where she had spilled Dawn’s blood and then rubbed her hands against herself, not minding the sticky mess. Suddenly, Drusilla gasped. Her hands, which had been fretting at the comforter, went still. “There it is.” She smiled, delighted, and her eyes slid from the ceiling to Dawn.

Dawn stiffened as Drusilla pushed herself up into a sitting position. Oh, not again, not again. Why couldn’t the witch stay in whatever lala land she had come up with. Where was Spike? He had left her with this crazy lady and she didn’t care if he was evil again, if he hurt her just as much, she still wanted him there, in the room. When he‘d walked out, terror had welled up in her and she’d started screaming all over again until Drusilla hit her. She had been scared before, of course. But she hadn’t been terrified. She had seen too much in her life to be terrified. She had had her blood spilled for a God and touched her mother’s dead body. Dawn Summers did not terrify easily. But she did when Spike left her.

And suddenly this woman’s cold, hard hands were on her cheeks. “Shh, shh… don’t cry.” Drusilla knelt on her knees and swayed, rocking on her hips side to side. “Bad girls go to confession. It’ll be worse for you there.” She nodded knowingly, as if confiding a secret. “It’s sharing time, now.”

Dawn’s voice came out muffled and garbled around the gag. Drusilla reached up, and pulled it down. “Aw, there now. Birdies can sing better without nasty bits in the way.”

Dawn licked her lips and stretched her mouth, eyes never leaving Drusilla. “Wh – What do you mean sharing time?” Her voice shook and did that squeaky/hoarse thing it always did whenever she cried. Buffy had always made fun of her for it.

“Oh, it will be quite fun.” She replied, her voice enthusiastic. Her hands were stroking and fluttering all around her cheeks, now. “Just watch.” Her voice dropped low. “Just watch, and look… look into my eyes, little girl.” And Dawn couldn’t help it. She tried. She really did. But she couldn’t help it. “Shh, shh, shh. Look… look… see in my eyes, see in me.”

And then she did something with her hands. Dawn blinked and missed it, and now Drusilla was gone. There, kneeling beside her on the bed was-- “Tara?”

“Hi, Dawnie.” And it was her. It had to be; only Tara was that warm. With that voice that made her feel young and safe again. Safe. Before hellgods and aneurysms and bad magic and things that made you get a soul. Before that.

“Tara!” She was desperate.

“I’m here, I’m here.” The woman pulled her into her arms. It was pure Tara. The delicate tinkle of jewelry, the smell of rosemary. But most of all – soft. There were no hard angles or edges with Tara. Not in her voice, or her eyes, or her hands. It was all soft.

“Are you here? Are you really here?”

“I’m always here, Dawnie. I have always been with you.”

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice fierce. She tired to focus, tried to memorize the details but something was squirming in the back of her mind. Distracting. Like a bird beating on the glass. “Are you staying?”

Tara smiled, her eyes crinkling. “No, sweetie.”

“What? But why, why can’t we – ”

“Listen, Dawn. Hush now, you have to listen. You’re in terrible danger.”

The flapping grew louder, more insistent. “I know, I was…” Dawn’s brow furrowed, her voice halted. “ …Spike was here. He was here but he’s… gone now.”

Tara nodded solemnly. “That’s what I’m here to tell you. Spike is dangerous. He’s going to hurt you.”

Dawn tried to smile, but it quickly fell. “No, he won’t. I mean, not really. There’s something…” Again, she halted, trying to piece her thoughts together. “I think he might be sick.”

“No, Dawnie. Listen. He’s evil, again. Remember when he hurt Buffy?”

“But that – that was a long time ago. It’s different now. He didn’t mean to. Something was wrong. Buffy said so. Circumstances.”

“Dawn, he tried to – ”

“Why aren’t you stuttering?” The flapping had become a pounding. “Not once, not once have you – ”

A harsh voice cut in, “Dru, what are you doing?”

Dawn blinked only to see Spike standing by the doorway, head cocked to the side in curiosity. He was bent over, as if holding something awkward and heavy. She couldn’t see. It was obscured by –

Drusilla. Drusilla, who’s cold, bony hands were gripping her shoulders, whose knees were touching her knees. The woman turned her head from the door and looked back to Dawn, her eyes wide and slightly glassy. “He ruins the best games,” she whispered apologetically. “But look at the great toy he brought us!” She moved, and Dawn could see what Spike was dragging across the floor. A woman with dark skin, rolling eyes, and a blue maid uniform. There were wads of paper in her mouth to dampen the small cries she made as Spike shut the door.

*****

It’s the longest forty minutes of my life. It’s the shortest forty minutes of my life. The man at the desk gives me her room number after I tell him I’m her sister and show my ID, while a small part of me is wondering how _they_ got her room number. I do this while trying very hard to appear normal. It’s not as hard as you might think. I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen. Every year it got harder, and every year I got better at it. By the time the elevator reaches the right floor and I’m standing in front of her door, Buffy is locked away in a tiny box. She’ll come out when needed.

There are no ledges along the outside windows to sneak upon. There is no Willow to create a decoy or a fog or a distraction. There is only one way in – the front door. I do what I can and break off the leg of a wooden table in the hallway. Along with the one I already carry, two stakes are better than one.

Carefully, I test the door handle. Locked of course. There goes the element of surprise. I force the door, ignoring the loud crack, and stride in, prepared for… I don’t know what. Immediately, my eyes zero in on Dawn, bound and gagged and quietly sobbing on the bed. While one part of me is noting her bruised and puffy eyes, another is cataloging the body on the floor between the bed and the wall, the only thing visible is two legs in pantyhose poking out behind the bed. Dawn’s eyes go wide when she sees me, and I’m halfway across the room to her before two figures emerge from the hallway leading to the bathroom. Upon seeing them, she screeches a muffled, “Buffy!”

Dropping the extra stake on the bed, I jerk off the soggy scrap of material gagging her. As quickly as I can, I check her over for vital injuries, ignoring the red wetness on the bed that’s soaking into my jeans. She’s bloody – cut in some places and burnt in others, but nothing that will kill her if she doesn’t get help like, _now_. Flesh wounds. An iron grip closes around my throat and, before I can grab hold of the stake, slams me against the wall. My feet dangle just an inch or two above the floor and I struggle to gain firm footing.

“Think your priorities are a bit mussed, Slayer,” he snarls, then smiles nastily, his entire body pinning me. “Maybe you should focus on those that’ll eat you, first.”

I smile sweetly through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry, Spike. I just wanted to know how much I’d have to make you hurt before you’re dust.” Wrapping both hands around his arm, I dig my fingers into the soft, cool flesh of his wrist. The tendons part before my fingers and his blood starts dripping down my hands. With a howl, he flings me across the room, barely missing Drusilla.

Before I can get up, she’s looming over me, her hair forming a dark curtain, and hissing, “Bad dog! Nasty! Every one of your kind.” She slaps me with enough force to snap my head to the side. A warm trickle runs begins to run down my cheek, followed by a sharp sting. She must’ve cut me with her nails. Dawn’s screaming in the background and Spike’s yelling at her to shut the hell up. I suppress a smirk. Dawnie’s shrieks must be hell on vamp hearing.

My hand shoots up and I grab Drusilla by the front of her dress, using her as leverage, as I climb to my feet. I punch her – hard – but don’t let go. Spike tackles me and we tumble to the floor, a whirl of fists and fangs and snarling.

I can hear Dawn still screaming. Vaguely. I’m kind of focusing on the fangs about to snap shut on my throat. “ – the drawer, Buffy! She put it in the drawer. The magic thing! The talisman!” Out of the corner of my eye I see the dresser.

With a small, frantic cry Drusilla crosses over to the bed. “Quiet,” she hisses. She grabs Dawn’s hair, jerking her head back. “I’ll make you stop telling. No more cats’ tongues.”

Spike lands a particularly hard blow to my gut and I lose sight of the two. Dawn screams and adrenaline shoots through me. With a kick, I send Spike flying towards the hallway. Ignoring the instinct to go to Dawn, I race to the dresser, yanking open the top drawer. Of course, it’s the dresser. Drusilla’s a crazy person. Probably likes repetition; things kept in their place. The drawer’s completely empty except for one small, thick piece of wood. It’s stained and there’s fabric wrapped around it. Snatching it up, I whirl around. Drusilla’s full concentration is on me now. Spike stands poised, as if waiting for something, at the edge of the hallway.

An eerie wail pours out of Drusilla, her face one of pure panic. “No, no, she’ll ruin it. I had the pieces all set out and arranged so very nicely, too.” She clutches at her chest. “Complete set, even the little forks for the cakes.”

I wave the thing in the air. “A stick? Really? Your master plan for controlling him is a stick? Good plan, really, I mean it.”

At that, her eyes narrow and she shifts into gameface. “Stop her, Spike. Stop the bad thing for princess. She wants to tear us apart.”

“Not gonna happen, baby.” He takes a very deliberate step forward, the orange hall lighting gleaming on his coat, and my fingers tighten around the talisman. “This’ll be fun, Slayer. Parties with you never get old.”

“You want a party, Spike? Fine. I’ll give you a party.” With one smooth motion, I snap the talisman across my leg.

Before I can even let the pieces fall to the ground, his stride breaks. His legs give out, and with one hand clutching at his head he crumbles to the ground. Tearing her eyes from him, Drusilla launches herself at me with a cry, fangs bared. Her mistake. I duck under and in, my fist connecting with her jaw. It’s a good, solid hit and she flies backwards into the wall with a loud thump that rattles the light fixtures on the wall. A quick glance at Spike tells me he’s still on the floor. Drusilla’s back on her feet, but this time she doesn’t charge in. This time she starts circling, slow and meandering. She snarls with rage, her crooked fangs gleaming in the hotel light.

“We were having such fun. Why did you have to come in and wreck it all? Nasty Slayer beast.”

“Oh gee, I’m sorry. I totally didn’t mean to interrupt this whole killing spree you two had going on. How rude of me. And my sister? Yeah, you can just go ahead and have her, she steals all the Pop-Tarts, anyways.”

Her eyes narrow into slits from anger, and she continues to circle. I swear she’s at her most lucid when you insult her. “I saw you! How you made them all like you.” …Or maybe not.

Keeping a sharp eye on her, I make a right jab, but she sidesteps it. “Sorry lady, but I don’t speak crazy.”

“All those girls. It wasn’t their time. But you made them sing anyway.”

It dawns on me what she’s talking about. “What’s the matter, Drusilla? Too many of us slayers trying to kill you now?”

“You took them! Made what you wanted. All of you taking what isn’t yours!” Her voice grows shrill. “Well I took him… fishes and finches. They knew what to do.”

“Look. In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to kill you. All your crazy psycho babble is a little distracting,” I snap.

She says nothing, but stops circling. The bones in her face crunch and the demon’s gone. Swaying slightly, one hand raises. The panic completely disappears from her voice. Instead, it falls to a low, soft pitch. “Don’t worry, dearie. You can make it better. Just look in my eyes.” Her brown eyes are intent, not breaking contact with mine for a second. “Look into my eyes… be in my eyes.” And for a second, I feel a tugging sensation, like a veil threatening to come down. Dawn’s cries fades into the background. Like noise from the next room over.

“It’s just like swimming, Buffy.” It’s no longer Drusilla’s voice. Instead it sounds like… it sounds so familiar, just like… Mommy. “It’s easy, I promise. If you just let yourself… go.”

She’s right. It’d be so easy. And it’s so tempting to just relax… I could float in the pool, soaking up the sun. My yellow floaties squeaking every time I move. It’d be so nice. I shift forward, wanting to see her better, and something hard and pointed jabs me in the small of my back. My stake. The one given to me. Kendra’s stake. The world rushes back into focus. Kendra’s death.

I lash out fast and hard, slamming her back against the wall, my elbow pressing into her throat. “Is this how you killed Kendra? Put her in a trance?” I can barely get out the words, so thick is the anger clogging my lungs. “Her throat was cut and there were no bruises at all. Couldn’t win in a fair fight, could you? Well guess what? Trances aren’t going to work this time. Aurelian or not, it’s not going to happen.”

Her fangs are back and she hisses, getting pissed off. “I made him! Me! I made him into what he is. He belongs to me.”

“He stopped being your boy a long time ago, Drusilla. And I’m getting tired of you waltzing in and playing with our lives.” I spin, landing a solid high kick, but she blocks the follow-up punch. She grabs me by the throat and I knee her hard in the gut, loosening her grip just enough to pry her hands off. She throws herself at me and we tumble to the ground. I roll on top and grab the neck of her dress. “First Kendra, then the things you did to Giles. Did you think I’d forgotten?” With a jerk, I slam her head against the floor. “And now Spike? You’re trying to make a monster out of him again, just like you. But I won’t let you. Not this time.” With one hand holding her down by the throat, knees trapping her jerking arms, the other unsheathes the stake nestled under my coat. “I have always regretted letting you get away all those times. But not today. Not anymore.”

I let my arm fly. But just before it hits home, a grip like stone catches my wrist, the sudden stop of motion wrenching my shoulder socket. I look up in disbelief, meeting flinty blue eyes. My voice squeaks out, barely audible. “But I… I broke it – ” My voice jerks to a stop.

Spike stands there, face cold. It didn’t work. It didn’t work and now I have to kill him, too.

“Not gonna to let you dust her, Slayer.” His voice is detached, even.

Below me, Drusilla squirms. I tighten my grip on her throat and my stake. I can’t take my eyes off him, and I can’t find my voice.

“Fine.” His hold hardens and jerks. With a clear snap my wrist breaks. I cry out, I can’t help myself, and he catches the stake before it hits the floor.

Drusilla whimpers, “My Spike…”

Spike gives me a shove and I fall against the wall, cradling my wrist. My mind is screaming at me to get up, do something, stop him, kill him. And I will. I promise. Just one more minute, just one more.

He kneels beside her, careful not to step on the brown suede of her dress, black leather falling around him. He cups her cheek, blue eyes intent. Her demon fades to below the surface and my stomach turns at seeing the two of them together like this. Her temple and mouth are bloody from the fight. The red shines against her pale skin. She’s crying, staring up at him with large, trusting eyes. The tears make little watery tracks down her cheeks.

She opens her mouth to speak, but his thumb moves to brush across her lips. “It’s time for quiet now, baby. No more voices.” Before she can make a sound he moves – quick as a flash. He buries the stake in her chest. Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ of surprise. He never looks away as she falls to dust.

His jaw works, as he stares at the pile for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns to see me still sitting there, staring at him. When he speaks, it’s strained and rough. “We had this conversation years go. Told you I’d do it.”

My mind’s blank for a moment, too numb to process anything. But then I remember. Drusilla’s second visit to Sunnydale. He chained us both up and threatened to stake her in order to prove his love was real.

I didn’t believe him then, and I don’t really believe him now. I watch him carefully, looking for a sign, some tell-tale detail to let me know that he really is magically better. Or rather, non-magically better. Magic-free. But he’s quiet, not saying a word, just staring at the ugly carpet now. This is more like the Spike I knew. The comes-with-a-soul version, anyway, and it’s enough to make up my mind.

“Spike.” No response. “Are you ok?”

His gaze moves and I follow it. The body lying on the floor, between the bed and the wall. Panty-hosed legs sticking out. “Peaches and cream,” he whispers softly. He still doesn’t move. Just stares at the dead woman out of the corner of his eyes.

“I have to help Dawn now,” I say slowly, as if he’s a child, or slow of understanding. But he doesn’t respond.

I look over at Dawn, still half-sitting, half-lying bound on the bed. She’s not crying or saying a word, but she’s watching me very closely, like I might disappear any moment.

I leave him, and go to her. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” I murmur softly, working at the ties on her wrists. Her gaze flickers between me and Spike. “I think he’s in shock.” And you probably are, too. We all are. “Can you stand?” I murmur, and she nods, rubbing at her wrists, and she does. But she’s wobbly, like some kind of baby animal. She clings to me in a way she hasn’t done for years now. My hands itch to check her wounds again, but nothing seems to still be bleeding, so I settle for running a hand through her long hair. I just want to get her out of this damn room.

“I’m going to take care of the body.” Startled at Spike’s voice, I look over. He’s standing now, but still just staring at that body. Doesn’t look like he’ll be moving any time soon, either.

“Ok.” I hesitate, holding onto Dawn, who hasn’t said a word. “Listen. I have to get back to Dinwitty, all my stuff’s there and I have to take care of some things…” I trail off, feeling a bit awkward. “You want to meet me there when you’re done, or…”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

I nod. When we reach the door I stop and look back at him. He still hasn’t moved and for whatever reason, I get the feeling that this is the last time I’ll see him for a while. Anger rises up, but it’s small and I’m tired, and I mostly understand. “I meant what I said.” With that, he does turn. His right hand jerks reflexively at his side and I know he knows what I’m talking about. The look he gives me is so sad and long, it makes my chest hurt. “And I’ll be waiting for you.”

Not saying a word, he looks away, and it’s over, and Dawn and I leave.

*****

It’s been four months now, and I haven’t heard a peep from you – and I’ve been listening. Or rather, we’ve been listening. Giles has the entire network looking out for you. (He’s back to completely hating your guts, by the way, but has assured me he means you no harm.) But you must be staying low to the ground cause there hasn’t been so much as a whisper. I’m not really worried though. Sooner or later you’ll pop back up. You’ll start itching for a bigger fight than the odd vamp or two. And... well, have you met yourself? Most annoying being on the planet. So there definitely won’t be any trouble there.

But in the meantime, I’ll give you a little room. God knows you have some issues to work out. I know I do. You killed a lot of people. And you took my sister. Oh yeah, I’ve got some issues to work through, too. But there’s only so much we can work through by ourselves. People need other people. You can’t wall yourself up. I know because once upon a time, I tried. And you were there to drag me out, kicking and screaming.

I got your note. The one that turned up the day Dawn and I left Dinwitty. We didn’t stay there longer than necessary; Dawn said the hotel smelled like pennies. I found it trapped under one of the windshield wipers of the rental, and I almost threw it away, thinking it was a flyer. But then I saw that near illegible chicken scratch:  
 _My compass is broken. I have to get my bearings back._

You better not take too long. I was never a very patient girl. And if you won’t come to me, then I’ll go to you. Around the world, to give you my love.


End file.
